Don't Leave Me Here
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Sherlock and John have grown apart, living their separate lives, until one catastrophic event brings them back together to solve the greatest mystery of all time.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sherlock was bored yet again. Ever since John had gone off and gotten married to Mary, he never seemed to be around. Especially now that there was a child in the picture. Little Shirley was only two months old, but she was the apple of her father's eyes. On the rare occasions that Sherlock and John had to actually sit down and natter for a bit, Shirley would come up over and over again. At first, Sherlock thought it was cute to see how much John adored fatherhood, but after a while, he found himself disliking it. It was almost as if he was jealous that Shirley was taking up John's time now. He didn't know how to admit it to John, but he missed the two of them working on cases. He couldn't say that though. It would mess up John's perfect world.

Rising from his chair slowly to walk towards the window, the television on as background noise, Sherlock pulled back the curtain to gaze down at the pedestrians as they scurried from place to place like tiny ants. Many of them had rain coats on to combat the normally wet British weather that leered over their heads in the forms of gray clouds. Sherlock lifted his eyes momentarily to the skies to see the stray crow cawing as its black feathery wings soared over the sky. A small smirk appeared on Sherlock's face then. If only it were so easy to fly away from everything.

As Sherlock stood at the window, contemplating, the television flashed onto a breaking news screen. Hearing the urgent voice of the reporter, Sherlock turned his head marginally to peer over his shoulder at the screen. The reporter was discussing yet another branch off of the war already at hand. Many people were claiming that a World War Three might be in the future. Sherlock turned fully when the screen filled with fire engulfed buildings and screaming people running for safety. His eyes reflected the screen as he allowed himself to wander back into the recesses of his mind palace. Why was this world such a hard place?

Moving in an almost ghost like manner towards his chair, he took a seat once more. The reporter signed off on the breaking news story and soon the screen faded to a riot outside a city hall. Mobs of people stood there; picket signs moving about the air like an extra arm; an arm reaching for justice. There were many people getting right into the riots, crying out for equality and for things to go the way that they wanted them to. Some were even so into it that they were screaming their demands; tears and anger flashing in their eyes and reflecting their injured, broken souls.

Sherlock was about to reach over to flick the television completely off to try to rid himself of the scenes that made him only more melancholy, when Mrs. Hudson entered the room with a tray of tea. She gave him a weak smile as she stood in the doorway, looking in at him in almost an uncertain manner.

"Thought I might bring you up some tea," remarked Mrs. Hudson, lifting the tray up a fraction of an inch into the air as if he might not be able to see it clearly in her hands. "You've been holed up here for ages."

"Thanks," he said; the one syllable word the only thing his mouth seemed capable of uttering at the moment.

She gave him a short nod of her head as she delicately made her way into the kitchen with the tea tray. As Sherlock turned back around in his chair to watch the commercials that came upon the screen, he could hear the sound of cups tinking against one another as she put last minute tea preparations together for him. He knew that he should express how grateful he really was for this, but he couldn't find it in him to do so. Not when he was this depressed. His eyes roamed from the television screen to the drawer on the stand beside him. Inside the drawer was a small drug stash. He knew that everyone would disapprove if they knew he was once again hooked on the deadly substances, but he needed something stable in his life. His older brother always seemed to be too busy to be bothered with him and now his best friend was too consumed with fatherhood to even pay him a phone call. He allowed a hand to carelessly stray towards the drawer, wrapping his fingers around the knob. He didn't find it bad to let drugs dull his mind. At least then he didn't have to do much thinking.

Before he could remove the substance from the drawer though, the tinking in the kitchen subsided, signaling to Sherlock that Mrs. Hudson would be in any moment now. Removing his hand from the source of his stash, he forced himself into an upright position once more. He couldn't let anyone know of his addiction. If he lost that like he had lost everything else, he knew that he would be a completely shattered man.

" _Nothing in this world is stable,"_ he thought to himself. _"Nothing in this world ever makes one truly happy."_

When Sherlock noticed that Mrs. Hudson still wasn't in the room, he rose a brow and stood from his seat. Maybe she was having trouble and had burnt herself. No matter how depressed Sherlock was at the current moment, he knew that he couldn't let her be alone in the kitchen if she was hurt. Walking silently towards the kitchen, he started to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

"I was hoping you might be careful so as not to burn yourself, especially since I'm the only doctor on hand..."

As Sherlock reached the doorway of the kitchen, he noticed that Mrs. Hudson was nowhere in sight. At first, he thought that she might have gone downstairs for something she'd forgotten, but the side door of the kitchen was closed, and Sherlock hadn't seen her go by him to go out the front. His eyes moved towards the fridge, which was ajar slightly, letting it's amber yellow light flood onto the tiles. Walking slowly around the island to go towards the fridge, Sherlock finally noticed what appeared to be clothes draping from inside the fridge to onto the floor. As he got closer, he could see that it was the dress that Mrs. Hudson had been wearing when she had come up to see him. Not only was her dress lying draped halfway in and halfway out of the fridge, but her shoes, stockings, underwear, and watch lay there.

"I didn't know Mrs. Hudson was one to run about in the nude..." remarked Sherlock, completely baffled by this development.

He bent to start scooping the dress and other remnants from the fridge before shutting it. As he moved a hand to shut it, he noticed two watery like dots dwelling just below the bottom shelf. Reaching down to touch them with his finger, he noticed that they were the contacts that Mrs. Hudson wore in her eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson!" yelled out Sherlock as he gently took her contacts in hand and stood. He thought that maybe this was the beginning stages of senility that older people experienced. If that was the case, he'd have to track her down immediately before she got hurt so she could get help.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He yelled again, placing her items on the island and moving to open the side door to yell down the stairs.

Before he could climb down the stairs to go look for her, his mobile started to go off in the living room. He paused for a second before letting out a small sigh and going to fetch his mobile. As he scooped his mobile up from the side table it sat on, he froze for a moment at the caller picture that displayed itself on his screen. It was John. He picked up and placed the mobile to his ear as he walked down the stairs to go search for Mrs. Hudson, not paying attention to the news on the television that was still on.

"Hello, John. It's nice to hear from you again," said Sherlock, rushing down the staircase and opening the door to where Mrs. Hudson lived. "How's life?"

"I don't know how you can act so blase at this moment, Sherlock. My hats off to you for your ability to stay calm right now."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock started to look about Mrs. Hudson's living quarters, not being able to find her anywhere he looked. He continued to look about as John said, "Aren't you watching the news?"

"No, not at the moment. Currently I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson. I believe senility is finally upon her for she left her clothes and other items in my flat. I can't seem to find her anywhere."

"She's gone too..." John muttered in awe on the other end of the line. "Sherlock, I'm coming over right now."

"John," He paused in the middle of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, wondering why there was such a frantic edge to the voice of someone he hadn't heard from in several months, "Why do you sound so frantic right now? What's going on?"

"Mary and Shirley...They're gone, Sherlock. It's the same like it is with Mrs. Hudson. All that is left are their clothes and other items that they had at the time."

Sherlock could tell that tears were bubbling up in John at that point as his voice cracked. No doubt he was shaking too as the next thing he said came out in a wobbly tone, "I'm scared, Sherlock...They're gone and I don't know where they are. The news...go look at the news...it's so hard to explain. I don't know what's happening."

Sherlock turned on his heels and started to take the stairs back to his flat two at a time.

"John, who is they?"

Sherlock didn't get an answer for a reply. Instead, all he got was the dial tone. John had evidently hung up on him and was in his process of making his way over to his place. Sighing, Sherlock deposited his mobile in his pocket before going to see the news as John had suggested. Another breaking news banner ran along the lower portion of the screen and Sherlock took in the chaos that was unfolding before his eyes. A different reporter was there now, narrating the story of how thousands of people had seemed to instantaneously disappear, leaving behind nothing but their clothing and possessions. Behind the reporter, cars lay off the roads and in ditches. Some had collided with others to generate a nasty pile up. This disappearance had apparently happened all over the world.

Walking in a stupor towards the window, Sherlock drew back the curtain to look down at the street below him. Chaos reigned outside his flat. Several people milled about empty cars or buildings, looking as frantic and worried as John had sounded on the phone just minutes ago. Sherlock gripped the curtain tightly in his hands. He had no idea what was happening, but he was bound and determined to figure out what. Here was yet another mystery that needed solving, and it was one that was on an epic global scale.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

John had been talking to Sherlock when his phone suddenly lost connection. Sighing, he decided to make preparations for leaving the house. He looked towards the head of the bed he was seated on top of, biting his lips as he noticed the smallest whiff of Mary's perfume still dancing through the air. He reached a hand to grab her pillow off of her side of the bed and buried his tear stained face in it in an attempt to quit himself from shaking. He was trying to pull himself together; to try to once again be the soldier that he was, but he was finding it very difficult at this moment.

After taking a few deep whiffs of the pillow, John placed it aside and rose slowly to his feet. His mind was telling him to check the nursery one more time in case he made a mistake, but he knew that he hadn't. It was all over the news. Thousands of people had seemed to vanish off the face of the earth within the blink of an eye. He wasn't the only unfortunate soul that was left to bemoan the faces of loved ones he might never see again.

As John walked with leaden steps toward the front door, he found himself paused outside the nursery. The door was wide open from where he had entered in his worried state when he had first heard the room fall terribly silent. His vision became blurry as his feet led him into the room, almost as if it were against his will. The rocking chair in the corner of the room held what was left of Mary. The chair was rocking slightly back and forth in the wind that was coming in the nursery window, sending intermittent creaks into the air. Draped parallel across Mary's possessions was those of Shirley. Her diaper, booties, socks, shirt and pants lay there, along with the small pink elastics that Mary had placed in Shirley's hair to create tiny pigtails.

As he stared at the rocking chair, he found himself falling to his knees. His face was in his hands as he sobbed. He knew that he needed to get to Sherlock as he had said he would, but he also knew that he still needed time to grieve. He was a soldier, but he didn't feel like one at the moment. Everything that he had cared about vanished right before his eyes without him being able to do anything to stop it. He had a gut wrenching feeling too that there was nothing on this earth that he could possibly do to bring them back either. They were gone, and he was left behind.

He rose stiffly as he moved forward to move Mary and Shirley's belongings from off the rocking chair. With love, he proceeded to fold each article gently in his hands and move to lay it to rest on the dresser nearby. He folded it slowly, recalling memories of them with each fold. Flashes of their smiling faces shone in his mind like a bright beacon through his depression. He gave a teary smile as he stacked Mary's things alongside Shirley's. Once both piles were side by side, John allowed himself to trail his hand faintly over the top of them once more. He knew that he wouldn't ever be able to stop grieving over their disappearance until he had discovered what had happened to them, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

"I love you, two..." He whispered tearfully, bringing up the back of a hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

With those words still floating in the air, he turned and slowly left the room. He shut the door behind him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to bring himself to come into that room for a while. Right now, he needed to try to focus on what had happened instead of grieving over something he'd never be able to change. There was no time machine to propel him back into the future. He had to face the future before him in the best way that he could. He was hoping that this hurt that festered inside him now would in the end make him stronger. He knew that he'd need all the strength he could get to make it through this.

* * *

As John stepped outside the small house and locked the door behind him, he looked in shock at the chaos that greeted him. He knew from having listened to the news earlier in the day that the disappearances of thousands of people had led to many accidents and wrecks occurring. He suppose he just didn't suspect to see so much carnage on his doorstep. As it was, the street his house was on was littered with cars. Some were crowded in bunches at the foots of driveways whilst others lay on their sides, slowly becoming engulfed by flames.

John walked down his driveway slowly as he examined the scene with awe when a teenage boy of about fifteen raced over to him. He grabbed him by the shoulder; his face coated in streaks of blood like war stripes. His hair was matted and was colored by soot and blood. John could tell, as he slowly swiveled his head to look at him, that this boy had suffered some sort of accident. John turned to grab the boy gently underneath the arm to hold him steady, and slowly helped to lower him to a sitting position on the ground. John crouched down in front of the boy, pushing aside his grief for the moment to turn his attention towards something that was immediately present.

"Where are you hurting the most?" asked John, allowing his eyes to wander the boy for cursory injuries to try to determine the answer himself.

"Everywhere..." He muttered; his hands shaking slightly as he tucked his knees up under his chin. The boy's wide eyes swept the street about them, focusing everywhere except on John's face. "Where is everyone?..."

"I don't know," said John. The doctor in him was slowly starting to click in, breaking through his grief lined daze. He gently reached out a helping hand towards the boy, wanting to check his injuries to make sure nothing was serious. As his hand reached the back of the boy's head, the boy flinched away, finally flicking his terror filled gaze onto John.

"What are you doing?..."

"I would like to look at your injuries," he said. "I want to make sure nothing is serious and that you don't need to get to a hospital."

"I'm fine," declared the shaken teen, looking anything but.

John shook his head and slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at the boy and was about to tell him not to move, but let the sentence die on his lips. Judging from the ball he was currently sitting in, John doubted as if he'd be able to move from it anytime soon. Making his way back towards his house, he unlocked the front door to go get his medical kit. He couldn't just stand there and watch other people suffer, not if he could help. He wanted to be of some use now. At least then he wouldn't have to think about what had happened to him.

John walked into the bedroom he had shared with Mary and grabbed his medical kit from the floor of the closet, opening it briefly to check to make sure everything that he could possibly need was still in there. Once he was satisfied with the contents of the kit, he shut it once more and was about to move to go back outside when he noticed his army outfit hidden within the recesses of the closet. He reached out a hand towards it fleetingly, as if hoping to gain some strength from it. That was when his eyes noticed the small band around one of the arms of the suit. The band was one that were issued for medical doctors to wear when going out into the battlefield. The band had the red cross that signaled help and made it so frazzled soldiers on the field wouldn't fight you off as the enemy when you tried to help save their lives. John slipped the band off his uniform and slowly slipped it onto his arm, over his brown leather coat. This was a war, and he knew that he was needed on the battlefield.

* * *

After treating the boy's injuries, he wandered down the street towards the 221B Baker Street flat. He knew that it was a long walk to Sherlock's place from where he was, but he doubted if he'd luck out and find a cab to take him there today of all days. As he walked, he came across more injured, dazed people that needed his help. Each time he had to once again repeat what he felt was slowly becoming his new mantra, "Don't worry, I'm a doctor." He had to say that each and every time to calm them down, as well as flashing him his medical doctor's band. That seemed to cure them for a moment as they knew that they were temporarily in safe hands.

By the time John reached Sherlock's flat, he slipped through the door and slowly started to make his way up the steps. He felt extremely worn out and deflated by that point. His feet ached from walking the many miles it took to get here. Sweat decorated his forehead and ran in small rivulets down either side of his face. His hands were dyed a light red from the blood that he had encountered whilst wrapping up the wounds of those he had come across. He was sure that his outfit was decorated with the remains of other's injuries too, but he could care less. At least for a while, he had known what to do to help these people. At least he had been able to stop thinking about Mary and Shirley for a bit.

Mary and Shirley. As John came to a dead stop outside Sherlock's flat door, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to them. Hopefully, wherever they were now, they would at least be safe. He was hoping that once he entered Sherlock's flat, Sherlock would be able to tell him that he already knew where Mary and Shirley were and they could go right to them to save them. He knew though that he shouldn't allow himself to get his hopes up too high. At least now he'd be with a familiar face and maybe together they could make sense of the chaos outside.


End file.
